from ROCK N ROLL
Caroline Rayner
God what a mess
pacing a spiral
working sun out
morning
what’s on,
what channel.
Your choosing sherbet shaded
scrolling
a pile
getting spacious at the bottom calamitous shake one
two
toppled flowers three.
Angel in the mix decides. Hello cloud,
good morning.
Water no longer runs over rocks light
no longer anything. Invisible signal repeating environment
fast through a window
sound
a hot tip
taken to task.
Is all this more than I can realistically have
and carry in a bowl my friend made.
Lilac bush shaking
late to bloom
what mood am I in.
Crystallizing the flux
rambling wine glasses
loosening convention
given timing
mismatched linens
grapefruit spoons clam forks treat plates
you can have it all
practice
what everyone did all weekend.
Finding that out unscrambled the trajectory of me
a Virgo
resonating then coming back
rambling
a crystal bucket jangling
went road side
sound
a hike
whistling through hair
having a favorite river
I run back the guitarist
laying out what she takes apart
and puts back
arranging the guitar moving
around it
sliding
through it
blues
all underneath
water
alive in variation
long weaving
holy places
these songs available
for free
how everyone in the parking lot played better than the festival.
These songs anyone could shake around see what comes out then give back
then ride again. Good as birds
happening in the air on a big walk.
Another mist colored way through
whatever this rain cycle is
broadcast this morning only
summoning material
crossing fingers
letting the moon get into it
hold it
like gems falling slow
video
deep in cosmology
surfacing a flash
tumbling and clanging around the table
arriving in time to eat toast with me.
Whatever I thought I could energize drips
then quits.
Such is soul weather.
I came fucked into the kitchen
hardly dreaming
disappointing and real.
Two guitars having breakfast together.
All the sun need be
the routine need rake the atmosphere of sediment
messing with tuning
Oats, whatever milk, various seeds, cinnamon, something to sweeten, reishi
to soften this whole
brain spirit split easing questions like
how are you living your life. Outside
demolition derby coded a hazard to have a place to be
like work.
I feel salted
come on take it
take me
whatever personality of the week
no
back to back
light on light
eventless
barely there music
someone on the radio explains
Okay. So.
The kind of website I thought gone
gumming up the hereafter
soaked rose baby blue running it
H-O-T
keeping it
L-I-T-E.
Coming back clearer
mirroring back chlorine in the water you get healed or hammered by
not a soul around
having figured
evil never takes a dip
never comes clean
evil just
gets so boring
it gets syndicated
so personal
I know it when I hear it
ugly actually
so embarrassing to clock
spooned in my direction
I want my time back
Deserted arena, deserted star
field mowed down gridded & mapped
something unimaginable
pile of cash
dude who experiences
nothing
fucks up everything
calls it information
& repeats it.
Let the sun back in
supercharging memories
I thought I was crazy to have
only maybe everyone thought that
another day cycling through sound
hearing static and being here and alive with it,
loving the little changes.
Keep it on rose, high kicking cowgirl, big city at midnight,
devil in the bathtub
the galaxy
poetry
the kind of janky bottom feeding zone no one really makes anymore
but you know you entered
awake at freak hours
and you feel like you could have a beer here.
I would meet you out late.
Here
the truth about music money no mood
money no what you search you obsess
crush mix money
war money.
Stark with stars to boot.
Everything
stolen not to sustain but to be depraved
fund actual war waged via video game
you could probably even purchase
and spread out to make easy
This is what happens
when a stream gets hauled through a black box probably underground probably inside
a mountain destined to be blasted once the rest are blasted beyond recognizing, what
happens when a stream gets drained and deranged and all anyone floating sees a filament
a stupid carnival prize with no way to light up or make noise. Trashed snack table, no wine.
How do you pay rent with that.
How do you know it and forget and go about the day
being a day.
The sound water makes tumbling.
The sound rocks make clanging around, sliding,
taking surface to task,
light dissolving inside, changing into something ripe to have faith in
mystery so unlike
what comes on automatically.
Same at the gas station
as the fruit store, ruining whatever the day might have been shaping up to hold
like revelation inside being snowed in all week by a creek in Alabama
like a dripping tunnel in Virginia full well bright morning star
people should always be singing inside of
like
stay with me
a swimming hole in Kentucky
a cave and pool system
like a sense of ceremony being carried forth by old songs asking you & me
certain linens and movements
like a codex of spaciousness and resonance and waves